


they say that dreaming is free (but i wouldn't care what it cost me)

by philindas



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 15:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14429088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philindas/pseuds/philindas
Summary: Ideally- she’d never meant to say the words angry. She’d never meant to throw them in his face in a last ditch effort to get him on board with letting her save his life. And she’d certainly never envisioned spitting them out and storming off, his frozen face the only thing she could see.But then again, nothing about their relationship had been ideal the last few months. Maybe this was just par for the course for them. Maybe there was no perfect world where they exchange the words softly, shoulders free from the weight of the world and impending death and doom no longer nipping at their heels. A soft epilogue had never been written for them.





	they say that dreaming is free (but i wouldn't care what it cost me)

**Author's Note:**

> This...got away from me. It was intended to be smutty, but they decided they just wanted to snuggle and be close to each other instead? Sorry about that. It's also now AU- I started it after 5.17 but didn't finish it before 5.18 aired so it takes place immediately after the I love you scene but has the emotions from 5.18. I hope you like it! Many thanks to Jan for reading part of this over for me. Title is from 26 by Paramore.

All she can hear is her heartbeat, rushing in her ears.

It pounds so loudly it drowns out everything else- the click of her boots against the concrete, the sound of recycled air in the Lighthouse; the click of her door when she shuts it behind her, trying to catch her breath. Melinda closes her eyes, Phil’s expression burned behind her eyelids- she swallows hard, mouth and throat suddenly dry.

Ideally- she’d never meant to say the words angry. She’d never meant to throw them in his face in a last ditch effort to get him on board with letting her save his life. And she’d certainly never envisioned spitting them out and storming off, his frozen face the only thing she could see.

But then again, nothing about their relationship had been ideal the last few months. Maybe this was just par for the course for them. Maybe there _was_ no perfect world where they exchange the words softly, shoulders free from the weight of the world and impending death and doom no longer nipping at their heels. A soft epilogue had never been written for them.

Her chest aches.

Overheating in her jacket, she struggles out of it with suddenly-clumsy fingers, tossing it over a chair. The weight of her confession suddenly feels like it’s pressing in around her, though the hollow of it being out in the open- no longer carefully tucked away as it had been for so long, is an odd juxtaposition within her.

Phil _knows._

She can still see his face, the way it had gone slack and then frozen that way, in the seconds following her words. His clear shock cuts through her like a physical ache, and she nearly winces as she recalls the vivid snap to her words of retreat, thrown in his face. She’s so angry at him, at herself, at their situation- it had been coming to a boil for weeks, she’d known, but to spill over like this? She’d never expected _this._

In all her fantasies- the clandestine ones she’d only ever allowed very late at night and fueled by whiskey- it had always been Phil who’d bridged the gap. He’d always been better at words than her- at _emotions_ than her. It made sense for him to be brave enough to cross their self-made boundaries and say the three words that would change everything.

She had never pictured it like this. Never imagined this empty, shattered feeling in her chest- imagined feeling so utterly drained and exhausted and _defeated_.

Because, deep down- she’d always imagined it would be mutual. That no matter who said it first, there would always be a response- the words said back. Not empty space; not silence.

And Melinda knows she’s not being fair- that she’d thrown the words at him and barely given him time to respond before she’d walked away. But every day it was like she lost just a little bit more of him, and the thought of being without him; of really and truly being alone- it terrified her.

She spends half the day expecting a knock, pacing the room and stretching her bad leg and replaying the conversation in the tunnel over and over again.

But it never comes.

She doesn’t know quite when she realizes he’s not going to show up- probably somewhere between deciding she isn’t hungry enough to eat, and that she _really_ needs to hit something. So she changes into workout clothes, tugs her hair back into a ponytail, and stalks off to find something to punch.

The halls are empty, and she makes her way to the training room without obstacle- she sets herself up at the punching bag, and tries to get out of her own head.

Punching is rhythmic, and she sinks into it, but even the familiar feeling of knuckles of leather can’t make her forget the look on Phil’s _face_.

It was almost like he hadn’t known, which is just absolutely and utterly ridiculous because- well, because it was obvious. She didn’t- didn’t _do_ the things she did for just anyone. Phil had always been special; had always meant more to her than most. He’d wormed his way into her heart before she’d even known she needed to have walls up.

Melinda’s hits become harder as anger fills her chest again.

It’s so _stupid_.

She’d locked these feelings away for so long- had grown used to them, rattling around inside her chest and against her heart. Now they’re out in the open, and it’s different; she’s different. There’s a shift of weight- not gone from her shoulders, not really, but more even distributed. More balanced.

And it’s ridiculous- the world is ending and Phil is _dying_ and they’ve wasted so much time; had so much time taken from them recently. Their story has never been fair; the cards never dealt in their favor.

She just wanted this to be better; to be different, somehow, from every other terrible thing they’ve survived.

Melinda doesn’t realize she’s broken the punching bag until there are hands that aren’t hers steadying it and sand is spilling out around her feet.

She blinks, concentration broken- it takes a moment for her eyes to focus, and Phil’s face to become clear. It takes another moment for her to notice his lips are moving, and that she’d missed whatever he’d said.

“-okay?” finally filters through, and she swallows, nodding once.

“I’m fine,” she answers, jaw tight as she rips her gloves off, tossing them aside. Together they lift the bag off the hook and set it on its side, stopping the flow of sand- her arm brushes his, sending traitorous sparks down to her fingertips and she fights to keep her face empty.

They work in silence, cleaning up the sand and closing up the bag with duct tape together; the tension between them thickens, and Melinda feels her mouth dry. Sweat drips down her neck, and the silence between them seems to stretch wider the longer they refuse to look at each other.

“I have to shower,” Melinda finally says, unable to _be_ here any longer- unable to stand the quiet any longer. Not with Phil- it had never been silence with Phil, not like this. She turns to go, and just as she takes a step warm, familiar fingers encompass her wrist and halt her progress.

Time slows; his grip is firm, but she knows if she moved, he’d let her go in an instant.

“Melinda,” Phil’s voice is barely a whisper, but it’s the only sound in the room other than her heartbeat rushing in her ears, and she closes her eyes briefly.

She turns to face him, trying to steel herself, but the moment she sees his face, she feels her resolve waver. Phil looks _lost,_ blue eyes full of emotion, and the intensity of it leaves her breathless.

“I- I thought you _knew_ ,” he finally gets out, words rushed and spilling out; her eyebrows scrunch together, confused, and he wets his lips, trying again. “I couldn’t- I didn’t think. I just- I thought you _knew_. I haven’t hidden it very well.”

It strikes her abruptly that they’re having a feelings talk and there’s sweat dripping down her back and she looks a mess from the punching bag and they’re in an open area that anyone could walk into at any time- but desperation has entered Phil’s expression, his thumb sliding to rest over her pulse point. She shifts a little, the space between them lessening.

“I…” Phil trails off again, looking at their feet before he lifts his head back up, eyes searching hers- he must find whatever he’s looking for, because he swallows hard and straightens his shoulders before he speaks again. “I’ve loved you for so long, Melinda. Longer than I can remember- longer than I can even tell you the exact moment it happened. You’re everything. And I thought…I thought it was easier, this way. To be reckless, and think I was dying in some noble way. For something important- bigger than me. To not think about what I was leaving behind.”

His gaze drops to his toes again, and he clears his throat. His fingers slip from her wrist, thumb against her palm; their fingers touch, but don’t tangle together.

“To not think about who I was leaving behind,” he finishes, and her chest feels heavy at the words. “I’ve carried how I felt for you for a very long time, Melinda. I never anticipated- I never thought that-”

“You never thought that what?” she asks, finally finding her voice, and Phil lifts his gaze to look at her for a few long, lingering moments before he replies.

“I never thought you’d love me back.”

Neither of them breathe in the following seconds; Melinda swears even her heart stops for a moment.

“I love you. Melinda,” his words hit her squarely in the chest like tiny little needles, sharp and stinging and white hot. “I _love_ you.”

Words don’t seem like enough; her mouth is dry and her fingers ache- to touch him, to feel his pulse under her palm, to hold him close, to no longer hold herself _back_ from him. Soundlessly, she closes the distance between them and throws her arms around Phil’s neck as her mouth finds his.

The first kiss is a harsh meeting of mouths- all tongue and teeth and desperation, the years they’ve waited leaking into it. Finesse disappears as hands scrabble at clothes, fingers tangle in hair; lips part only to gasp for air before they dive back in.

It’s somewhere during the fourth or fifth kiss and Phil’s hand palming her ass that Melinda remembers they’re in the very public training room, and that while it is late at night- anyone could walk in. And that while their feelings are out in the open between them, she doesn’t exactly want this to be common knowledge among their team.

She pulls her mouth from his, and Phil moves his lips to her neck, finding a spot by the hinge of her jaw that pulls a soft gasp from her and has her fingers tightening against the back of his neck. “ _Phil._ ”

His name comes out like a moan, and he takes it as encouragement- his hand slides beneath her shirt, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her leggings, and she almost forgets what she’d been trying to say. But then something in the base creaks, reminding them once more of their surroundings, and reluctantly, Phil’s hands move to the safer territory of her hips.

“I think we should move this somewhere more…private,” Melinda murmurs, palms flat against his chest before she plucks at his shirt invitingly. She arches an eyebrow and cocks her head, and one of the corners of his mouth pulls upwards.

“Where you go, I follow,” he replies softly, and Melinda can’t help the small smile it tugs from her as she lifts onto her toes, kissing him once, twice, three times before she turns and heads for the doorway. There’s a pause before she feels him follow after her; he keeps a few inches of space between them as they make their way to her bunk, closer to the training room than his.

The door shuts with a click behind them, and Melinda toes off her shoes, stretching her toes out against the cool cement floor. It grounds her, though it barely soothes the heat bubbling beneath her skin.

“I was going to shower…” she starts, but Phil’s fingers are back in her ponytail, mouth on hers and cutting her off.

“I like the sweat,” he tells her in a low voice, licking along her jawline and pulling a soft little moan from her. She can tell he wants to say more, but it’s lost in a wide yawn that he stifles in her shoulder, pulling a laugh from her.

“When was the last time you actually slept?” she asks, fingers stroking against his shoulder. Phil blinks, thinking about it.

“Too long,” he finally answers, and her lips quirk upwards. She steps back, tugging her shirt off and tossing it aside- she slowly pulls her hair from its ponytail, allowing the dark locks to spill around her shoulders.

“Come to bed, Phil,” she murmurs, tugging the covers back and climbing onto the bed to watch him. She feels smaller like this, shirt off and shoes discarded, a smudge of black clothing and pale skin against sterile gray sheets and the metal bedframe.

Slowly, he takes off his jacket and shoes- after a moment, his belt and pants follow, leaving his shirt and a pair of gray boxers. There’s another brief hesitation while he clearly debates with himself about his shirt- she’s on the verge of telling him he can keep it on when he tugs it over his head, exposing the black lines radiating along his breastbone.

Melinda keeps her reaction to herself, though her chest aches at the sight. She wraps herself around Phil’s back once he’s climbed into the sheets after shutting off the lights, her lips pressing between his shoulder blades. She lays her palm over the scar covering his heart, feeling its beat under her hand.

“Tomorrow, I’m making a move,” Phil tells her, voice heavy with sleep, and Melinda hides her smile in his shoulder.

“I’ll be waiting,” she tells him, nuzzling her cheek into his skin. She waits until his breathing evens out, tiny little snores rattling his chest, before she allows her eyes to close, sleep tugging at her.

Her dreams, for once, are calm.


End file.
